


Day 9

by AMRainer



Series: 30 Days OTP Challenge: NSFW Edition [9]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Closet Sex, Day Nine, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Drabble Sequence, F/M, It Gets Worse, Romance, Smut, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 05:19:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11571153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMRainer/pseuds/AMRainer
Summary: He's definitely not an adrenaline junkie - no, he's a boring married guy who shouldn't even be between her legs in the first place.





	Day 9

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell/gifts).



DAY 9: AGAINST THE WALL

.

Habits. Yes, goddamn habits they created throughout those five months they've been there together. Fridays in particular have been etched with an almost compulsive routine. Only this time everything is different. Well, not everything, she's still drunk and he's still trying to balance her against that damn closet's wall near the Ambassador's office.

He wonders vaguely why she's never sober when they are pressing so close – when he's nestled within her, when she's bucking against him like she's been starved for their encounters just as much as him. But Hotch doesn't think he minds at all, he doesn't even think because his mind is fogged with the sensory overdrive blended with the thrill of almost being caught. He's definitely not an adrenaline junkie - no, he's a boring married guy who shouldn't even be between her legs in the first place.

"It's my last night", she announces somewhere amidst the throes of passion, thighs locking around his hips despite the violent twitch of her muscles.

And then his eyes linger on her lips, the aroused flush coloring her alabaster skin, the darkness reflected in her deep brown orbs. It takes a minute for him to realize that she's not drunk at all – or that he is having a crazy dream and what he finds in her eyes is somehow a tender emotion.

He's inside of her a minute later, his hands attempting desperately to hold every inch of flesh available while her short nails attempt to dig on his built up back. It's faster than he can take, it's fast and smooth and rough and goddammit when he reaches completion it's better than anything he anticipated. But there's as strange –  _different_  – gleam pricking her lids, there's a fucking tear spilling down her cheek and he's almost sorry.

 _Almost_ , for less than a month later, he's in Yale –  _Yale, not Brown you moron -_  leaning against his car at that forsaken parking lot where he finds her with a cigarette between her lips and the wickedest of the grins on her ravaging features.


End file.
